


Open to Suggestions

by kostia



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Episode: s04e06 Open Mic, Groundhog Day, M/M, Magical Realism, Music, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27600298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kostia/pseuds/kostia
Summary: Patrick has trouble deciding on a song to sing for the open mic night. He considers and rejects several choices. Some are better ideas than others.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	Open to Suggestions

**Author's Note:**

> You have all been so kind over the entire 48 hours of my fanfic career. I've been bowled over by your lovely comments. So thank you. I doubt I will keep up this pace, but I thought of something new, so here it is. I hope you enjoy. ♥️🧡💛💚💙💜

“Well, I am open to suggestions.”

“What if we hosted an open mic night?”

Pause.

“I am open to suggestions.”

* * *

Patrick wanted to sing a song for David. He didn’t much care if he was any good. He figured he wouldn’t be. But he hadn’t picked up the guitar to so much as noodle around since he got to Schitt’s Creek, and he missed it.

He had no idea if there was any type of music David liked that he could possibly play on an acoustic guitar. It didn’t seem particularly likely. Acoustic covers of electric songs were so cool sometimes, but he was a beginning guitarist, and he just didn’t have the skills to put something like that together.

He put Spotify on shuffle and hoped something would come up that one, he might be able to possibly learn to play, and two, came within light-years of how he felt about David. Maybe Spotify knew about some songs he didn’t. Maybe Spotify knew a song that was entirely in open tuning and whose lyrics said “I can’t say I love you yet, but if I could I would” or “I’m so glad your family got swindled and I left my fiancée and we ended up in this ridiculous town.”

It didn’t seem likely, but there were a _lot_ of songs on Spotify.

On the sofa hours later, Patrick sat bolt upright. There was a song. It was already an acoustic arrangement. It only had about six chords in it. He _might_ be able to play it. And the lyrics said something he not only _wanted_ to say to David, but actually _already had._ He spent the rest of the night learning the song.

* * *

“I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life.”

He saw David wince. Maybe this was a terrible idea.

_When something goes wrong  
I'm the first to admit it  
I'm the first to admit it  
And the last one to know  
When something goes right  
Oh, it's likely to lose me  
It's apt to confuse me  
Because it's such an unusual sight  
Oh, I swear I can't get used to  
[Something so right](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-u8-kJt13K0)  
Something so right_

* * *

He’d fumbled the fingering in the bridge; singing “those words _I love you_ ” while trying to remember the chords had been nearly impossible. But most people were clapping, and David seemed relieved it was over.

When they closed up the store, David said “thank you” and kissed him. It was nice.

He fell asleep wishing David were there, but he’d gone back to the hotel because there was some sort of event the next morning. But it was nice.

  


“Well, I am open to suggestions.”

“What if we hosted an open mic night?”

Pause.

“I am open to suggestions.”

* * *

Patrick had a strange sense of _déjà vu_ as he and David talked about his open mic night idea. He felt like he knew what David was going to say about improv an instant before he said it. He spent the rest of the day trying to shake off the feeling while simultaneously making the arrangements for the event. Everything felt like it had happened before.

Spotify was _not_ cooperating. “Something So Right” by Paul Simon seemed _almost_ perfect because he’d told David he made him feel right, and he already knew how to play it (though he couldn’t recall exactly when he’d learned it), but he didn’t like how it talked about people longing to hear “I love you.” The last thing he wanted to do was make David feel pressure. And it talked about things going wrong. He’d had enough go wrong already.

It took a while, but when the eighties playlist he was messing with came up with a song he hadn’t heard in years, he smiled a little. This might work.

Learning it was no picnic. It had originally been electronic, _and_ keyboards, not guitar, _and_ sung by a woman in a minor key. But it was a pretty simple song, and he found himself actually able to speed it up and turn it into something a little more upbeat. He was kind of amazed at how much better his guitar skills were than he remembered.

* * *

“I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life.”

“David Rose.”

He saw David make a sort of _oh, dear_ face. Maybe this was a bad idea.

_This is going to take a long time  
And I wonder what's mine  
Can't take no more  
Wonder if you'll understand  
It's just the touch of your hand  
Behind a closed door  
All I needed was the love you gave  
All I needed for another day  
And all I ever knew  
[Only you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvSzjPee89w)_

* * *

The crowd applauded, and a few people who were old enough to remember a song from 1982 gave him whistles. Twyla and other young people definitely didn’t recognize it, but that was okay. They weren’t his audience.

As they closed up the store, David whispered “thank you” and kissed him just a little bit harder than was particularly appropriate, given that there were still people making their way out. It felt pretty great to be so public about their relationship.

He fell asleep with a little bit of a smile on his face, wishing David were there, but he’d gone back to the hotel because there was some sort of event the next morning. But it had gone well, he thought.

  


“Well, I am open to suggestions.”

“What if we hosted an open mic night?”

Pause.

“I am open to suggestions.”

* * *

Patrick felt a headache coming on. Something was _very_ strange about this conversation. Hadn’t they just talked about this? He felt like he’d already gotten the permit for the open mic night, already sold David on the idea, already tuned his trusty guitar and sat on a stool and sang _to_ an audience of fifty but _for_ an audience of one. He definitely felt like he had, and it was hurting his brain to make sense of it.

The feeling continued. It seemed obvious that he’d spend the rest of the night on Spotify trying to find a poppy eighties song that he could turn into an acoustic arrangement to serenade David at the open mic night. He couldn’t quite remember coming up with that idea, but it was obviously what he was going to do. He idly strummed on the guitar, playing along with songs he knew, while he listened to what felt like a thousand wrong songs shuffle by.

When he heard it, he laughed out loud. It had the wrong pronouns, and the eye color wasn’t right, but he could fix that. And he’d skip the bizarre part at the end with all the repetition. And at least this one was from within their lifetimes. And it had been a huge hit. Everyone would know it, not like the last one.

The last one.

What last one? It wasn’t like he’d done this before. What a strange thought.

* * *

“I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life.”

“David Rose.”

“There he is, right there.”

David seemed to make a face that said _not again,_ which Patrick thought was odd. He had the same feeling himself. Maybe this wasn't his best idea ever.

_He’s got eyes like the clear night skies_  
_Without a thought of rain_  
_I’d hate to look into those eyes and see an ounce of pain_  
_His hair reminds me of a warm safe place_  
_Where as a child I’d hide_  
_And pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by_  
_Oh, oh, oh,[sweet child of mine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1w7OgIMMRc4)_  
_Oh, oh, oh, sweet love of mine_

* * *

Everyone clapped and whooped. People really did love that song, and he’d played it for laughs, even though he meant every word. He’d even nailed the solo. He realized he was much better at the guitar than he’d been before he came to Schitt’s Creek. All that practice— _wait, what practice?_ —had been worth it.

As he sang “and see an ounce of pain” he’d looked at David and seen none. He was obviously trying not to smile, but his eyes were glowing. It was progress.

_Progress._ Odd. This was one night, not a whole series of performances.

He locked the door of the store and turned around to find David standing inches away. He whispered “thank you” against Patrick’s lips and laughed quietly as he added, “I’m glad you like my hair.” Patrick surged forward and kissed back harder, and by the time they broke apart to go their separate ways home, they were both a little out of breath.

He took an extra recreational shower when he got home, wishing David were there, but he’d gone back to the hotel because there was some sort of event the next morning. What a night. He hoped there’d be more like it.

  


“Well, I am open to suggestions.”

“What if we hosted an open mic night?”

Pause.

“I am open to suggestions.”

* * *

_Son of a bitch,_ thought Patrick. _We have definitely done this shit before._ But he didn’t say anything. The last thing he needed was for David to think he was certifiably insane. Or that he was playing some kind of _Groundhog Day_ practical joke on him. Patrick suspected that David had already had a lifetime’s worth of thoughtless practical jokes played on him.

But they’d done this before.

He knew that now.

He just hadn’t come up with the right song yet.

* * *

Playing guitar that night, Patrick toyed with the idea of playing an original song like he’d threatened. He did have a few, even if the process of writing them was a little hazy in his memory. But the songs he’d played on the open mic nights were all coming back to him. He’d done this so many times.

He remembered playing “Something So Right.” He remembered playing “Only You.” “Sweet Child o’ Mine” had gone well. And he remembered playing a dozen other songs, though those memories were hazy too. He’d played “Something So Strong” by Crowded House. He’d played “Can’t Help Falling in Love With You,” which he now remembered had ended with David freaking out. He’d been the picture of unadulterated panic. He’d run out of the store before the song even ended. That was a night Patrick hoped he would actually forget, and he was glad David would never remember it.

He remembered the songs he’d considered and rejected. “Your Body is a Wonderland.” Ugh, what had he been thinking? Even David couldn’t defend John Mayer, and David had _met_ John Mayer on at least twelve occasions. “Your Song” was lovely, but he knew how much David loved the way they’d done it in the medley in _Moulin Rouge_. “Crash Into Me,” even without the pervy bit about “hike up your skirt,” just wasn’t right for him and David, plus he couldn’t possibly choose a song by someone else named David.

There had to be something perfect. Something originally done by a woman, of course. Not just a woman. A _diva._ He knew that he could make pretty much anything into an acoustic cover by now, but he had nothing anywhere near the vocal range to attempt a Mariah Carey song. Maybe parts of “Always Be My Baby,” but certainly nothing else. “Emotions” would actually shatter his vocal cords if he failed, and shatter half the jars of product in the store if he somehow succeeded.

Who else was there? Celine? Madonna? Beyoncé? Diana Ross?

His rambling thoughts came to a screeching halt right about there.

He knew _exactly_ what to sing.

* * *

“I would like to dedicate this song to a very special someone in my life.”

“David Rose.”

“There he is. Right there. That’s him.”

“Can’t miss him.”

David listened to his mother say something and nodded. Patrick was pretty sure she was offering to rescue him. But he was sure now. This was it. This was the one everyone else would remember, too, not just him.

This was the one people would be talking about tomorrow.

This time, there would _be_ a tomorrow.

_I call you when I need you and my heart's on fire  
You come to me, wild and wired  
You come to me  
And give me everything I need  
Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams  
Speak the language of love like you know what it means  
And it can't be wrong  
Take my heart and make it strong, babe  
’Cause you're [simply the best](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GC5E8ie2pdM)  
Better than all the rest  
Better than anyone  
Anyone I've ever met  
And I'm stuck on your heart  
I hang on every word you say  
_

* * *

The applause was enthusiastic and universal, but Patrick didn’t even care. It was all he could do to thank the crowd, introduce the next act, and get to David as fast as he could. Everyone else disappeared as they kissed, and both of them had tears in their eyes.

They couldn’t stay more than a few inches apart for the rest of the night, holding hands or leaning on each other, trading soft glances and stolen kisses while Bob read his terrible poetry and Twyla told funny-yet-disturbing stories of her childhood and Jocelyn went up on stage when it wasn’t even part of the program just so she could announce that the baby was going to be a boy.

It was all perfect. The store felt like exactly what it was supposed to be. A very specific store.

And he was leaning back against David’s very specific chest, and he could feel David’s very specific heart racing.

When they finally got everyone out of the store—and he actually had to _buy back_ some of the drink tickets he’d given Ronnie just to get her out the fucking door—Patrick turned to David and asked, “Will you stay with me tonight? I know there’s some kind of event at the motel—”

“Forget it,” David interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. Alexis is rebranding it as Rosebud so it’s both our name and Stevie’s, which is adorable, but I don’t need to hear about how Mom _still_ doesn’t know Stevie’s last name and Alexis doesn’t know it’s Budd with two D’s, I’ve been there for it like a hundred times now, and _oh my god, yes, I will stay with you tonight._ ”

And they woke up the next morning.

And they lived happily ever after, with slight hiccups along the way.

But no one in the history of happily ever after has ever gotten to happily ever after without hiccups, no matter what the love songs say.

**Author's Note:**

> I linked to the original video of “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” but I need you to also watch another one. The movie is called _Captain Fantastic._ Viggo Mortensen was nominated for an Oscar for his performance as a widowed dad raising his kids on the road. [And this scene is near the end.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PyecG4Tt2k)
> 
> I _absolutely promise_ this movie is worth your time. (For one thing, Viggo Mortensen is fully naked in it, if that’s something that interests you.)


End file.
